


i'll keep you like an oath

by words_on_pages



Series: Prison Universe [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dark Harry, M/M, Manipulation, cell mates, harry is slightly insane, i used the rape/non-con warning again because there are mentions of it, louis starts shit he probably shoudn't, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_on_pages/pseuds/words_on_pages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For whatever reason, Louis had become an anchor of sorts for Styles. The guy had literally drifted through prison like a boat on open water. And at first he’d kept at a distance from Louis, with his eyes always watching, however slowly but surely he had tethered himself tighter and tighter to him. And that is what it felt like to him now. That he was holding Styles in place by his mere presence.</em>
</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4004515">when the levee breaks</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll keep you like an oath

**Author's Note:**

> Okay wow. When I wrote that 4k oneshot I never dreamed it would roll into a 10k story and counting. But I love this universe and apparently some of you do too. Thank you guys so much for the kudos and comments letting me know you appreciated my work! You guys are awesome and I literally had no intention of writing more until you guys spoke up. It was very inspirational.
> 
> I can only hope you enjoy this part like you did the first one.

 

 

Louis ran into the dayroom alongside a flood of other prisoners. There was chaos. Both guards and inmates were yelling. He caught a glimpse of Styles on the outskirts at the other side of the room. He was the only one standing calmly aside. His eyes found Louis as if he was a beacon that called out to him. There were times that he had wondered how he did that. Styles had the uncanny ability to locate Louis no matter how many people were in the room.

There was something different about him. His eyes, rather than cool emptiness were a deep glittering green. And Louis nearly missed it but there was an almost imperceptible quirk to the right side of his mouth. Louis squinted his eyes in puzzlement but there was no reaction to his silent question. He shrugged those thoughts aside as he pushed his way through the crowd.

More than one elbow caught him in his ribs, one to the head. Fuck did that one hurt. Four more guards rushed into the middle of the room pushing prisoners apart. With the parting of the crowd Louis finally noticed that two guards further on had an inmate face down on the ground.

That’s when the blood registered. It was fucking everywhere. Splattered across the TV, the walls, pooling on the cement floor next to a body. It was also all over the inmate the guards were pressing into the floor. He wanted to get a bit closer to see who had gotten fucked up but the guards were beginning to push everyone back, commanding everyone to go back to their cells for a lockdown. Curiosity was bursting in him but he realized he didn’t need to see who it was. One name was traveling through the crowd of inmates, being passed through conversation and shouts.

Bianchi.

His whole body froze when it registered. Louis whipped his head over to where Styles had been. He was walking smoothly through the chaos, hands clasped behind his back. Louis surveyed his uniform up and down, searching for any sign of blood but there was none.

Just as Styles reached him- pressing himself into Louis' back automatically, chin hooking over his shoulder- Louis saw the guard lift something up out of the corner of his eye. It made his blood run cold.

It was a thin piece of mirror about five inches long.

“They want us to go back to our cells. Lockdown.” Styles murmured lowly into his ear.

Ice trickled through him at the sound of his voice. Louis had seen that very same piece behind the toilet in their cell the other day.

He stiffly made his way forward, shuffling as best as he could with Styles plastered to his side. A million thoughts blazed through his head. How the fuck could Styles have known? It wasn’t possible.

But he couldn’t ignore the coincidences. The chunk of mirror, Styles demeanor when he’d first walked into the dayroom, his eyes burning so hotly into Louis and of course Bianchi. Fucking slashed apart on the floor. Louis had to swallow back stomach bile.

Bianchi and his gang had jumped Louis three days ago in the laundry. He hated that job. It was further removed from the common rooms, an easy place to find yourself forced on your knees, a dick shoved down your throat without a soul there to save you. Louis had indeed been the one pushed to the ground in that scenario and it was Bianchi’s dirty fucking dick. He had been lucky that the dumbshit hadn’t paid attention to shift changes.

Louis had choked on his cock for less than a minute before he pulled out and they meandered on their way, just ahead of the incoming guards. It felt like it took him at least a day to get that fuck’s stink out of his mouth. Obviously he wasn't going to tell anyone. He did't want to encourage a repeat experience from others. He figured he would’ve been able to tell if Bianchi had bragged about it, but considering he hadn’t gotten any extra attention he’d assumed it was done with.

The bloody scene flashed in his mind again and he swallowed thickly. Now it sure as hell was done with.

They made it back to their cell and the loud buzz sounded off before all the cell doors were closed in unison. Styles pulled him backward to sit on the bottom mattress and he tipped his head toward him knowing what he wanted. The guards made the rounds, stopping in front of every cell and calling out the numbers that identified each of them, making sure everyone was accounted for. Louis submitted to Styles’ ministrations, fingers combing through Louis’ hair over and over again, eyes holding him captive in their tranquil green depths. All the while Louis sat and wondered.

 

***

 

Styles went to some sort of group meeting twice a week. Louis wasn’t exactly sure what it was for. He was aware that there were weekly meetings for inmates who had a history of substance abuse, but those were led by Sister Donovan and he knew that Styles wasn’t going to those. He was pretty positive the group he was going to was led by an actual therapist or psychiatrist or whatever the fuck.

Employment changes around here were always hot topic for the general population. It may not seem all that intriguing at first but they had fuck all else to do in here, so when a face disappears from the ranks of guards it gets noticed. When a new one appears the prisoners get riled up for a few days over the excitement of fresh meat.

So Louis had overheard through meal time that Dr. Samuels had been one of those faces that had disappeared and that they didn’t have a replacement readily available for the position. For the following two weeks Styles hadn’t gone to his meetings. It only seemed logical that they had been put on hold until the position had been filled.

Louis had been trying for the last couple of days to figure out how to get included in the group he went to.

He knew fuck all about Styles. But if there was one thing he’d learned here in the last two months is that knowledge can equal just as much power as size. It would probably behoove him to try to learn a little more about his cell mate. He sure as hell knew the type of shit that got Styles off. Ever since that first time, when Styles had shoved his fingers down Louis’ throat, purposely gagging him before he came, Louis had gotten a sick feeling it might always take little something extra for him to juice into Louis’ ass.

He hadn’t been wrong. Over the past four weeks Louis has been choked and suffocated, gagged on Styles’ fingers more times than he could count. It was always just on the _edge_ of actually being dangerous. He’d noticed that about Styles. Oddly, Louis had never felt like he intended to kill him, even when choking him or gently laying a pillow over his face, he’d always known this was just something he needed. On the rare occasions that Styles fucked him face to face, in those moments near the end when his hands would close over Louis' throat or fingers pressed into his mouth, Louis could see the unfocused set to his gaze, fascination shimmering there.

The honest to god worst part of all of it was not Styles fucked up need to do it. It was the fact that more often than not Louis would come so fucking hard he’d see stars. He hated that turn of phrase. He’d had friends back in the day brag about a lay so good that they saw stars when they came. It never failed to make Louis roll his eyes at the cliché statement. But now he knew there was no other word for it. The sparks that lit up behind his eyelids and burst from every limb of his body sure as fuck felt like it. Louis had not yet been able to reconcile himself with that. It burned him up inside knowing that Styles was able to do that to him.

He did not look forward to the nightly fuck he was forced into, no matter how much pleasure he eventually succumbed to.

 

***

 

Getting his name on the list of members in Styles’ group had not been nearly as difficult as he had expected.

It took only two more days until he got wind that a Dr. Borland was now on staff. All he’d actually needed to do was request to speak with him. He’d been assigned a one-on-one meeting in which Louis had drolled on about his horrible childhood and played up suicidal thoughts. He was actually flabbergasted at the stupidity of the man. He’d never cared much about politics but clearly the level of psychiatric care given to inmates was not properly regulated. This guy couldn’t have looked like he cared less when Louis was talking to him. Louis sure as hell wasn’t in true need of clinical care but someone like Styles? An involuntary flash of anger poured over him as he thought about how the system was screwing Styles over from any possible real recovery. But it came down to one cold hard fact. Once you ended up in here, no one gave a shit about you.

As soon as Dr. Borland suggested he join the group he would be leading on tuesdays and thursdays, Louis nodded, thanking him politely and got out of there as fast as he could.

 

***       

                                                                                                                                                                      

There was no change in Styles’ demeanor when Louis trailed after him on the following tuesday.

Things like that made him wonder how much actually registered in his brain.  He had so little reaction to the things that went on around him, like he was mentally removed most of the time. The continuous focus on Louis was always there, but he couldn't say for sure if Styles actually _saw_ him. And the way he drifted from place to place in his serene-like state gave the impression he wasn't always present. The only thing that didn’t fit was the situation in the dayroom the other day. Bianchi’s death. Styles had seemed- fuck- he couldn’t even think of the word he was looking for. Self-possessed. Louis had _felt_ a different presence from him across that room- one of tightly held control that Louis had never seen before. He still hadn’t been able to get the glittering green eyes and infinitesimal smirk out of his head. He shuddered at the memory.

“Alright, everyone have a seat. We’ll wait for another minute or two. I still see a few empty chairs.”

Louis made brief eye contact with the doctor, nodding in acknowledgment before his eyes skittered away. Now that he was here it occurred to him that he would have to actually participate. Simple fact, but one he had not considered in advance. He eyed the other inmates shuffling to their seats in the half circle. There were about twelve spots in total and Louis recognized some but not all of the prisoners.

The doctor stood up and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Borland. I’ll be replacing Dr. Samuels. I’m going to run through a roll call to make sure that we have everyone. For some these meetings are optional, others they are not.”

There was a heavy pause before he continued. “Also, in following with Dr. Samuels, I will not be using the numbers assigned to you in order to address you. Most of you are familiar with each other within this group, so you are already used to this.”

After a conclusive nod he looked down at his clipboard.

“David?”

Louis saw a finger raise quickly in acknowledgement from the guy across from him.

“Kareem?”

Hands continued to raise as everyone verified their presence.

“Louis?”

He flicked his fingers up and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The guards couldn’t have done something like this at the door? It was a fucking waste of time and made Louis feel like he was back in the third grade.

“Harry?”

Bored, he began picking at the thread sticking out of the right seam of his pants.

“Harry?”

Louis glanced up at the fact that Borland was repeating the name a second time. He surveyed the group and it appeared that everyone’s names had been called. The doctor seemed to be on the same wavelength. He frowned down at his clipboard and then raised his eyes once more, looking over the group, stopping to the spot on Louis’ left.

“Harry.”

It took a few beats before Louis realized the doctor was trying to get Styles' attention.

The doctor’s frown deepened. “Harry Styles.”

It wasn’t until that point that Louis even realized that Styles was not staring at him for once. His gaze was pinned to the floor, hands on top of each thigh digging in hard enough that his knuckles were white.

Borland stepped toward them, snapping his fingers loudly in the air in front of Styles. “Harry. I need you to acknowledge me.”

Tension was pouring off of Styles in waves. Louis chewed on his bottom lip as he watched him. It was so _alien_. Styles' presence was never anything but a calm, rippleless lake. And yet here he was, all torqued up like an overly twisted piano string that was about to snap.

Borland crouched down close to him, hand landing on top of Styles’ own on his leg. He spoke low. “Harry?”

It was like a bomb exploded in the room. Styles’ launched himself forward out of the seat, eyes lit up with an inhuman brightness. His hands fisted into Borland’s shirt as he sent him careening into the opposite wall. Inmates scattered from the circle, chairs clattering aside. In the back of his mind Louis could hear the guards rushing to unlock the door, crying coming from one corner of the room and some obnoxious fuck shouting “Don’t call him Harry. What kind of dumb piece of shit are you?”

He had a split second to react, so he rushed in to squeeze his body between Styles and Borland. If anyone knew the extent of his strength it was Louis, or rather Louis knew how strong he was even when he wasn’t using it full force. He circled his fingers around Harry’s wrists, trying with all his might to pull his hands away from the doctor, but they felt like steel. He had a feeling that Styles was going to go for Borland’s throat, could see his intent in the wide, bright eyes boring into the doctor. In the second that Styles released his fists, Louis successfully pushed him off, hands pressed into his chest as hard as he could maintain. He did the only thing he could think of.

“Styles. Hey. Look at me.” Louis put his hands on either side of his face, thumbs rubbing along the underside of his cheek bones. He cocked Styles head down so that he was facing Louis despite the fact that he was still staring at Borland over his shoulder. He continued to coax gently, “Styles. It’s me, your pal Louis. Come on. Bring those eyes to me, yeah? I’ve been missing them.”

Panic arched through him as he heard the lock unlatching the door. A little bit of anger slipped into his voice. “Come on then. Look at me, you green eyed fuck.” He knew that he had to get him under control. He pressed his thumbs hard into the hollows of his cheeks. “Fucking look at me.” He commanded quietly. Finally, Styles’ stormy eyes met his and once he latched on Louis knew he had him. “That’s it.” He smiled softly. “See, that wasn’t hard.”

Two guards stormed in, their frenetic energy seeming a bit foolish in the calm blanketing the entire room. The only noise was some whimpers coming from a prisoner curled up in the corner.

“It’s all good. Just a misunderstanding.” Louis offered in an agreeable voice.

The obnoxious guy from earlier glared at the guards. “You guys’ didn’t think of letting the good doctor know _not_ to call him by his first name? Jesus. Where do they get the fuck ups that work here?”

The guards shared a silent unhappy look, one of them spitting at the ground. “Stow it, Johnson. Unless you want a night in the hole for insubordination?”

The same guard glanced over to him and Styles. Disgust twisted his face. Louis had moved his hands down to Styles’ chest without realizing it, palms flat, fingers scratching minutely up and down against the fabric. Styles had each hand pinching hard at the soft skin above Louis’ hips. He would have bruises for sure.

He could imagine how they looked to him, but Styles eyes were almost clear light green now. Whatever the fuck worked, Louis thought. He wanted to spit at the judgement he saw in the guards face. Fuck him.

A loud sigh interrupted and everyone turned to Borland. “No it’s fine. It was my fault. I guess I had not been, um- made aware of certain needs of the inmates. Why don’t we just wrap this up for today and start fresh on thursday.”

Louis wondered if the doc would even still be here by thursday, no doubt had dreams of skipping out before he even made it to his second meeting.

 

***

 

 _Harry_ Styles.

He sounded the name out in his mind because he sure as fuck wasn’t about to say it out loud. The incident in the meeting must have sapped Styles energy because for once he was asleep on the lower bunk, giving Louis a rest from his attention.

He was leaning up against the opposite wall of the cell, considering Styles’ sleeping form. Or Harry’s rather. It felt odd- the new name on his lips. (figuratively speaking) He wasn’t yet sure what this knowledge could do for him. To be honest he thought he would have gotten a bit more out of the meeting than just his name. One thing was for sure; it certainly wasn’t tied to happy memories in Styles’ past.

What was a small but significant shitstorm earlier had now developed in Louis’ mind as a large problem. If Louis had not been able to stop Styles- well, let’s just say he had a very clear scenario in his head of what would have happened, ending with Styles dragged to the hole for god only knows how many days, weeks. If not permanently. Which meant a new cell mate for him. And he was betting the roulette wheel of chance was waiting to shit on him with someone like Carson rather than the crying little shit in the meeting.

It pained Louis to think it but he needed to keep Styles with him. At least he was predictable (for the most part) and off just enough to instill a healthy uneasiness in other inmates which dissuaded them from challenging his claim over Louis (so far).

If he was willing to be honest he could admit that things had changed slightly between them. Louis was a bit of a natural chatterer, something he had stuffed down once he’d gotten thrown in here. But for the last several weeks he had opened up a little. Styles ever attentive expression made it easy to do. So he had begun blathering. About the food here, Kendrick from cell block B’s ugly as fuck face, his family, the injustice of why he was in here. Styles listened and Louis didn’t need him to speak. It was a mutually beneficial situation.

He still didn’t have any say in whether or not they fucked. It grated on him. Because sometimes Louis just wanted to fall asleep and not be fucking touched. There were nights he laid in bed, tensely waiting, no movement above him. And then just as he had relaxed each muscle bit by fucking bit and was about to doze off, he would hear the slap of Styles bare feet hitting the cement and then his body would be blanketed in bed.

He’d heard the muffled cries of other inmates. Could only imagine the brutal things happening to them. During those times a large pit off fear would ball up in his stomach. He would remember their cries sometimes during the frenzied peak of orgasm. He’d cling desperately to Styles, fingers digging in harshly, the terror and pleasure intermingling, praying that he would never have to experience anything but this.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, to discover that he truly was thankful to get fucked by him. He could grind his teeth together, split his fists against the wall but the outcome would never be any different. He was lucky that Styles owned him in here. Coming to terms with it made nausea roil in his gut.

Which brought him back to Styles' slumbering face. Utterly peaceful despite all the clangs and shouts ringing throughout.

He needed to get a handle on this _Harry_ deal. Had to break him of that reaction to his name. They couldn’t afford to have him respond to it in violence again. Because based on how Louis had somehow brought Styles back to himself at the meeting, he had a feeling he needed _him_ even if he didn’t know it.

 

***

 

Over the next day he strategized how to go about this. And after dozens of stray thoughts he kept coming back to one main conclusion.

For whatever reason, Louis had become an anchor of sorts for Styles. The guy had literally drifted through prison like a boat on open water. And at first he’d kept at a distance from Louis, with his eyes always watching, however slowly but surely he had tethered himself tighter and tighter to him. And that is what it felt like to him now. That he was holding Styles in place by his mere presence.

Christ. Louis huffed a laugh, dragging his hand roughly through his fringe. How long had he been behind bars? And he was already becoming _such_ a philosopher. He thought it took prisoners fifty years before they got to that point. Fuck.

The point of this conclusion, Louis reminded himself, was that there was something about him that seemed to center Styles, bring him tranquility. Louis figured he could use that to sort of rework his first name in Styles’ mind, desensitizing him to it. Louis was completely aware he was probably way over his fucking head with this. But what choice did he have? It seemed like the most logical strategy and he needed to do something. Another outburst by him- this time with a successful ending and he might as well resign himself to being the whore of cell block C.

Plus, he knew that exerting this type of manipulation with him would bring him under Louis’ thumb a bit more, which was certainly a worthy side effect. The more tightly he bonded Styles to him, the more certain he was that he could control the relationship.

He also had one more reason for doing this. One he preferred not to think about. The thing is, prison changes you. Louis had only been here two months and he could already feel the ugliness invading his blood. And the Bianchi situation had shocked him. Because he knew that Styles had orchestrated it, he may never have proof but he had felt it in his presence that day. And deep, deep down he had felt a sweet sickening thrill that Styles had done that for _him_. And if Louis could control Styles? He could control his own protection.

 

***

 

So it had begun.

Louis wanted to start out small for obvious reasons. He and Styles had just set their breakfast trays down. He let him press up as close as he liked to his side, whatever would bring him comfort.

Louis turned, knowing he would find Styles eyes on him, wanted to see them so he could gauge his mood. Pale green. Clear and slow blinking as he shoveled oatmeal into his mouth.

It was a great sign. It meant that Styles was calm and also present. He checked again just to make sure there was no eerie light to them that would indicate part of him was off god who knows where in his mind. But there was nothing, thankfully he’d be okay to move along with his plan.

He leaned into his space, forcing Styles to turn his head forward so he could whisper into his ear. “Harry.” He muttered to him gently. “Could I have a drink of your water, please?”

The reaction was immediate. Styles’ spoon fell with a clatter on his tray, both hands falling to grip tightly at the edge of the table. Louis could see the rigid length of his jaw clenched, oatmeal bulging grossly in his cheek.

Louis had expected this for the most part, so he kept going, knowing he needed this to work.

“Harry, don’t be mad.” He spoke softly into his ear. “It’s just me.”

Styles entire body began to tremble. Louis frowned as it grew from a fine tremor to what looked like his full body shuddering, over and over again. He glanced around in panic wondering if this was going to draw attention to anyone else. Feeling his control on the situation slipping away, he set a hand on the back of Styles neck hoping to comfort him.

Before he could even blink Styles jerked erratically, shoving the tray in front of him off the table onto the floor. His plastic bowl and spoon rattled loudly as they hit the ground. That had drawn people’s attention. The room was loud and it was often the fairgrounds of fighting in between gangs, the likes of which often started with trays landing on the floor before all hell broke loose.

It seemed to be drawing even more eyes to them because a fight had _not_ broken out. Dark curious stares watched Styles unravel right next to him. He began to draw the scrutiny of the guards who had been talking to one another, lazy fucks who only enjoyed stopping fights after they began because then they got to use the pepper spray or force at gunpoint.

Louis had to get him under control as fast as possible or this would veer wildly away from him.

“Styles.” He said, voice level. He grabbed his chin and turned his face toward him. He sucked in a gasp at the deep liquid green of them, unfocused and staring at a point past his shoulder. “It’s Louis. Come on. I need you to finish my oatmeal, it’s waiting for you. You know I hate this stuff. Can’t fucking stand it.”

He had no idea what he was saying, words just began tumbling out of his mouth.

“You gonna store that oatmeal in your cheek all day? Like a fucking squirrel? Styles. Start chewing and get started on mine.”

His heart was thundering in his chest and he was quickly running out of ideas. He still had Styles chin in his grip, he moved his thumb up to press at the bulge of his cheek, trying to push the oatmeal over his tongue. He must have pressed in a bit too quick because Styles started coughing and sputtering, bits of oatmeal flicked onto Louis’ face and hair, but more importantly Styles had started blinking. Eyelashes fluttering rapidly up and down and when his eyes opened for good he was actually looking at Louis.

He let out a huge sigh of relief. Jesus Christ had this been a bad idea, Louis thought glumly. Styles glanced down for his tray, brows furrowed in confusion when it wasn’t there.

“Here.” Louis slid his in front of him. “Take mine.”

He rubbed his hands roughly over his face in frustration. Next time he’d definitely be attempting this shit inside their cell. This was going to be a hell of a lot trickier than he expected and he wasn’t going do this on display for everyone again.

 

***

 

An opportunity presented itself sooner than he expected that afternoon. Offhand, Louis had asked Styles what he wanted to do. His eyes had zoned in on his mouth as they always did when he spoke, but to Louis’ surprise Styles answered him.

“I want you to talk to me while I comb your hair.”

Louis was taken aback. Styles never really asked for anything, he suspected he listened to Louis, but very rarely did he actually choose to participate by answering him back.

They went back to their cell and Louis allowed himself to be maneuvered this way and that. Styles leaned back against the cement wall at the head of the lower bed, pulling Louis into the vee of his legs sideways, one leg stretched out behind him, the other laying over his lap. His right hip was snugged right up to Styles' dick. Louis chattered away, staring at the stone wall across from him while Styles ran his fingers through his fringe, combing it back. Involuntarily he closed his eyes at the pleasant sensation.

He hated how much he liked the rhythmic feel of Styles fingers on him. He wanted it to make his skin crawl, didn’t like being someone’s play thing which is exactly how this made him feel. It felt like Styles was manipulating him rather than the other way around. It was a constant struggle within him, not wanting to play by the rules in here but his instinct for survival forcing him to anyway. Whether it was with the guards, or the other inmates or Styles himself, Louis was required to bend himself mentally and physically in order to persevere.

But it was always the worst with Styles because every once in a while he forgot about the game, forgot that he was being used as a play thing and just got lost in the sensation. He didn’t want to forget. Didn’t want to lose the perspective that he didn’t ask for this and didn’t want it. But as tightly as he tried to hold on to that it still eluded him at times.

At some point his words had tapered off and Louis kept his eyes closed while Styles carded his hands through over and over. There was a comfortable heavy silence between them and Louis decided he would allow him to continue for just a little bit longer. He felt like he could almost fall asleep sitting up, the feeling blanketing him heavier as Styles started to glide his fingertips over his forehead and cheeks, down the slope of his nose and over his eyebrows. Louis felt like he was in a trance, his body going completely lax, mouth falling open a bit.

He felt Styles’ fingers trace over his lips for several minutes, shivering slightly at the pleasure of the simple gesture. Two of them hesitated at the dip of his lower lip, sliding inside slowly over his tongue. He sucked them in, swirling his tongue around them and in between, tasting the salt of his skin. A harsh breath next to him broke the spell and Louis’ eyes flew open. He tore the hand from his mouth, looking over at Styles, whose eyes were glued to his mouth, a thin dusky green ring around his pupils. He could feel how hard Styles was against his hip. He couldn’t ignore how stiff his own cock was in his pants.

He blinked in confusion, trying to clear away his disorientation. How the fuck had he gotten hard? This wasn’t- he didn’t know what the fuck this was or what had just happened but everything in him wanted to get away as far as possible. His mind screamed at him to retreat, but amidst all the warning bells sounding in his head he realized he could maybe use this moment to try to recoup from his earlier failure. It only took a matter of seconds for him to decide how to proceed.

He leaned into Styles, hand on his chest.

“Harry.” He murmured lowly.

Styles stiffened beneath him and the eyes that were heatedly watching his mouth, went wide. He tried leaning up but Louis held him with the hand to his chest.

“Harry, do you want to continue this?” He asked. It certainly seemed like Styles had been having a good time with his fingers in Louis’ mouth, maybe that was the inspiration he needed. He wanted to bring in the discomfort of his first name and link it to the good feelings he'd just been feeling.

Louis was unhappy to realize his question was having the exact opposite effect on Styles. He could feel him rapidly softening where his side was pressed completely over his cock.

Why did this never go the way he intended it to? Louis thought angrily. Hands clamped over the arm he had on his chest and Louis could feel them start to squeeze painfully like a vice. He could see that faraway look enter Styles eyes. He was once again pissed off to find that it was rapidly moving into bad territory. He needed to get his attention back.

“Harry.” He barked. And then winced because he had meant to say Styles. To his surprise the hands stilled on his arm. He squinted his eyes in confusion, trying to figure out why that had gotten through to him rather than taking him further away in his head.

“Harry, its Louis.” He said again loudly as if he was trying to reach through whatever paralysis had seized him inside his head. He slipped his hand out from Styles’ and curled his fingers tightly into his hair on either side of his head. Shaking him a little bit he continued, “Harry. It’s Louis.”

His eyes burned into him, willing him to respond. A flicker of something occurred in his green depths and Louis tightened his fists in Styles’ hair, painfully so.

“Harry. Gonna need you to look at me, pal. Come on. You can fight through this.” He touched their foreheads together, nearly going cross-eyed with trying to still look into his eyes. “Come on, Harry, you fuck.”

Two blinks and Louis pulled his head back, watching while Styles blinked a few more times, he thought he saw a sliver of lucidity in them. “It’s Louis, right here.” He shook Styles head once again, before releasing one hand to thump on his chest. “Harry.” And thumped his own. “Louis.”

Fucking hell, if he had to go all tarzan on him he would. The simple words seemed to register with him.

“Harry and Louis.” Styles repeated, dark eyes connecting with his like laser beams, sucking in his bottom lip. The intensity in his eyes coupled with the possessive finality of his words made bile rise up the back of Louis’ throat.

He was fucking drained and just wanted to spend a year away from his cell mate and this bullshit. He squashed the part of his brain that was trying to remind him that he had brought this on himself. He didn’t give a fuck. His life was a train wreck. More than that. It was a hurricane. The bullshit system sentenced him here for burglary? It was such a fucking joke. He was surrounded by guards who probably wouldn’t give two fucks if he was murdered in a hallway somewhere and prisoners that were one person away from shoving their cock in every orifice of his body.

And then there was Harry. How was he supposed to deal with this psycho, who in one breathe would murder someone who so much as touched Louis the wrong way and in the next would serenely comb his fingers though his hair? This lunatic who never asked anything from Louis or pestered him in any way but then shoved his face into a pillow while he fucked him raw night after night?

Louis slumped his shoulders in defeat. How was he supposed to deal? He may not have figured out the how completely but the why was simple enough. Because when the rubber meets the road he would choose Harry over anyone else in this fucking joint.

He swallowed a few times until his throat was clear and met Harry’s eyes with determination.

“Yeah. Harry and Louis.”

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr](http://words-on-pages.tumblr.com/) if you wish!


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